


What Happens at Bunker Hill

by Lurea



Series: Fool Me Once [5]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Blow Jobs, Deacon has Issues, Hand Jobs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Pre-Blind Betrayal, Rare Pairings, Semi-Public Sex, Slow Burn, Timeline What Timeline, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-15 19:19:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurea/pseuds/Lurea
Summary: Danse leaned over and said, in as quiet a tone as he ever got (which was essentially normal speaking voice for normal people), "MacCready.  Suspicious-looking stranger at ten o'clock.""Number one, he's not suspicious-looking, that's how actual real humans dress out here, Danse.   Number two, he's not a stranger.  So, y'know. Fail and fail.""He appears to be watching us."MacCready held up two fingers about a smidge apart.  "This is the Commonwealth's tiniest trophy for observation skills, Danse and you just won it!  Good job!"





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So I managed to do another interlude and decided that there were now too many to keep calling them interlude: whatever. Unless I get really desperate for titles, which the way this series of one..two...four...hahahaha stories is growing, I may just. I woke up one morning, imagining MacCready and Danse quarreling in my head and I thought it was so amusing that I had to write it down. I'm afraid that Deacon and MacCready are not especially pleasant to Danse (with admitted provocation) so I can't call this Danse-positive. Pre-Blind, obvs.

"These fortifications are rather impressive. If the Brotherhood needs a fallback position, this might work nicely." Danse looked around approvingly. 

"Yeah, well, the people that actually live here, just might have something to say about that," MacCready said. He didn't bother looking over at the other man; he could imagine the sneer. Wasteland residents didn't generally deserve anything, once the Brotherhood decided to take it. 

He needed a break. Get something to eat, maybe check their backtrail and... Then they would get back on the road, and hopefully reach the airport by midnight. If he'd been with anyone else, he would have suggested stopping for the night, but since it was Danse, he just wanted to get it over with. He shifted his pack on his shoulders and debated pulling out another shirt. The day had been warm enough that he'd peeled off the duster and the flannel, but as the light faded from the sky, the temperature dropped. Quick and fast, despite it being 'technically' summer. He decided to wait for now. Until they left. 

"Look, Danse, I want a plate of hot food and a beer." 

Danse frowned and looked around. "I wouldn't advise it. I have rations. This ...place doesn't look sanitary." The caravan hands sitting at the bar looked up and immediately took off. Joe Savoldi folded his arms and glared at MacCready silently. 

MacCready gritted his teeth. "Fifteen minutes. Just try not to be a jerk--" He stopped and considered. "Try not to say anything for fifteen minutes, that's all I ask." 

"You've actually requested multiple things on this journey," Danse snapped back. "That I be quiet, that I stop –what was it—oh, yes, thinking with my muscles, that I forget about asking Blue to join the Brotherhood, that I give _'peace'_ a chance, which I'm still not sure what you're referring to--" 

"All right, all right!" MacCready stomped over to the open-air counter. "Joe, can I get some noodles and a beer?" 

"Uh, sure, sure, MacCready," Joe said. He looked at Danse standing behind him. "Does—does _he_ want anything? 

"Depends. Got warmongering? No? He'll pass then." Danse gave no sign of understanding that little joke. MacCready sighed and wished for a more congenial traveling partner. Someone who would get his jokes. Heck, even Blue would have been preferable. He hadn't seen much of her lately, because of Railroad stuff. It was the way she was, she found a new person or a new secret society and suddenly it was all she could talk about. Then a week or a month went by and she was onto something else. Like this guy. He'd been hanging around Sanctuary gathering some mysterious components for something—he refused to say _what_ and now had to get back to the airport. 

MacCready could have refused to escort the other man. Except that Blue had made it clear that none of them were supposed to be travelling alone. And frankly, when her message arrived, the idea of getting him out of Sanctuary had so pleased everyone that he'd been swept up in the general air of celebration and had agreed. Without considering that it would mean spending an entire day in the other man's company. There was also the fact that the racist jerk wouldn't have considered traveling with Nick, Deacon had _conveniently_ vanished, Piper was with Blue and Cait just laughed at him when he asked her to tag along. 

He also might have been swayed by the fact that Hancock was currently at the airport and that once he'd gotten rid of the tin can, he expected to spend a very relaxing couple of days with him. Or well...with someone at any rate. He set the beer down and quickly surveyed the premises in his peripheral vision. Nothing. Yet. Not that he was expecting—well, yes, he was expecting. After shadowing them this far-- 

Joe put the noodles down in front of him with a thunk. They were hot and salty and not bad at all. Not as good as Takashi's but definitely worth stopping for. And worth the caps Nick had given him from the travel fund. He applied himself to slurping them down as quickly as possible. Danse had been quiet for about five minutes now and any second, he would probably erupt in a Brotherhood rant that might get them asked to leave. 

But instead, Danse leaned over and said, in as quiet a tone as he ever got (which was essentially normal speaking voice for normal people), "MacCready. Suspicious-looking stranger at ten o'clock." 

Of all the times for the metal-man to suddenly notice what was in front of him. MacCready sighed and said, "Number one, he's not suspicious-looking, that's how actual real humans dress out here, Danse. Number two, he's not a stranger. So, y'know. Fail _and_ fail." Also he'd been trailing them for a while, but MacCready wasn't about to tell Danse that. 

"He appears to be watching us. Now that you mention it, I believe that I've seen him with Blue before." The Brotherhood really had single-mindedness going for them, even if it didn't have, oh, compassion, smarts, or diplomacy. For an instant, he imagined Danse's reaction to a group in the Commonwealth that worked to set synths free, among the rest of the hapless humans. He would probably blow a fuse. But MacCready wouldn't say it, tempting as it would be. The Brotherhood was dangerous. Better if the Railroad stayed off their radar.

MacCready held up two fingers about a smidge apart. "This is the Commonwealth's tiniest trophy for observation skills, Danse and you just won it! Good job!" 

Danse, or rather Dense, as he'd started calling him in his head, ignored that. "What is he doing here?" 

MacCready wasn't sure how to answer that. He suspected that Deacon was shadowing them for some reason of his own, but it could be coincidence that they'd both ended up in Bunker Hill. Mac had eyes; he could tell that Bunker Hill had Railroad connections. 

He chased down the last of the noodles with a sip of beer and shrugged. "Uh, well, maybe something for Blue."

"We should join forces then." 

"Nah, not the best idea. He uh—he does his own thing." And it wasn't like _he_ knew what Deacon was up to. Just the opposite. He seemed to pass through Sanctuary at the speed of light. It had been a week since he'd last seen him for any significant amount of time, when he helped him and Blue clear some raiders out of downtown Boston. Then he disappeared again on his own mysterious business. They hadn't had any chance to talk—or anything else-- in between gunshots. Two weeks since he and Deacon had ended up handcuffed together at the highway. He should know, he'd jerked off to the memory about twenty times. 

Danse's expression darkened and one of his armored gauntlets fell on MacCready's shoulder. "I remember some talk about him being a synth. The statistics say that loners often are." 

MacCready tried to shove the armored hand off his shoulder but it didn't budge. Ugh, he really disliked bullies, always had and his temper was starting to slip. "He's not a synth, Danse." 

Danse stared at him through narrowed brown eyes. "Does Blue know about this?" 

He took a sip of beer but it wasn't nearly as calming as he'd hoped. "I said, he's not a synth. Do I need to spell it out for you? N as in nuts, 0 as in idiot and T as in terrible. Like it's any of your business, anyway." Xenophobic jerk. MacCready actually had no idea what 'xenophobic' meant but he'd heard some of the others...well, okay, Deacon—using it to describe Danse and he liked the sound of it. 

"What I hear is a lot of you evading the question!" The hand tightened and forced him around until he was facing Danse. MacCready scowled at him, frustration boiling over. 

"Gosh, Danse, you're all worked up. You get to go first in the Brotherhood circle jerk for spotting 'baby's first synth'?" 

"Stop mocking me!" Danse shoved him off the stool with a rumble of servos and then pinned him against the wall with a tight grip on his chest. He was skillful enough to not crush anything but that didn't make steel-armored fingers digging into his armpits any more comfortable. 

"Then stop being so mock-able!" MacCready shot back. Danse's free hand made a fist and that was a little concerning. If the ass—er....idiot accidentally flexed the fingers of his other hand, he was going to break some ribs. He saw Joe ducking into the back room out of the corner of his eye. No help from that quarter. He could still reach his pistol, but he doubted pulling a gun would help calm-- 

There was a click, and a thunk, and Danse's power armor abruptly powered down and ejected him. The gauntlet dropped, and released from its grip, MacCready slid down and fell back against the wall. Danse stumbled out of the armor, wearing some kind of orange jumpsuit. 

Deacon stepped around one side of the empty armor. "Wow, nifty," he said, holding up a fusion core to the light. "What's this worth anyway?" 

MacCready doubled over, catching his breath. Deacon was dressed like a caravan guard, which meant leathers, sunglasses, and a laser pistol slung over his back. He touched Mac's arm lightly, rubbed one thumb across the inside of his elbow. "You okay?" 

MacCready felt a flush of warmth all out of proportion to the touch. "Yeah." 

"Give me that," Danse tried to snatch the core and Deacon avoided him neatly. 

"No take-backsies, Danse. Also, aren't there Brotherhood regulations about using power armor irresponsibly?" Deacon tossed the fusion core into the air, caught it and tucked it away...somewhere. 

"What do you know about the Brotherhood?" Danse said tightly. 

"You'd be surprised. Gotta miss Sarah Lyons, huh? Were you around when she--? No? Betcha know your history." Danse folded his arms and tried staring him down. MacCready could have warned him of the futility of that particular endeavor but... Nah. He'd rather just watch Dense get increasingly frustrated and confused by the fact that although Deacon appeared to be winning, there wasn't any way to tell because of the sunglasses. 

Danse gave up and ordered, "Identify yourself. Rank and status." 

MacCready had caught his breath and straightened up. Pointed at Deacon. "Him? He's Howard. Don't let the human look fool you, he's in disguise, because he's really a duck." 

Danse looked back and forth between them and looked confused. Opened his mouth, and then closed it. 

Deacon's lips twitched. His sunglasses glinted in the bar's overhead lights. "Howard the Duck, the seminal comic book featuring an extraterrestrial stranded on earth and censored because he was having sex with a human? Damn, that's---I hate to say it, MacCready, but I'm almost ...impressed." MacCready grinned back at him. 

Danse turned his nose up. "What are you two talking about now? Some kind of...filthy pornography about animals. That's disgusting." 

Deacon looked at his fingernails in an elaborately casual way. "Isn't the point of pornography to be filthy? I mean, I obviously don't know how they do things in the Brotherhood, but most folks out here like a little dirt to go with the sex---otherwise, it's too comedic." 

"I don't want to think about what passes for Brotherhood porn," MacCready added. "Probably lots of weird mechanical references." 

Deacon stared at him for a minute and then smirked so widely that MacCready promptly suspected trouble. _Uh-oh._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If your weather is anything like mine, there isn't to do today but try to keep warm and read fanfic. Here's my small contribution, enjoy!

MacCready glanced around the bar but saw nothing in the immediate vicinity to provoke humor; the caravan guards had all withdrawn to prudent distances once Dense started fuming and Joe was still hiding in the back room. Which reminded him: He put caps on the bar in payment for his meal plus a generous tip. He wanted to come back and not have everyone think that he was an as...er, jerk. 

"Yeah, the Brotherhood's all about machinery, right?" Deacon purred, his tone low and silky. "Machinery...moving." He sighed and stretched languidly, arms over his head and arching his back, drawing MacCready's eyes immediately. Show off. Danse shifted his weight in his stupid orange jumpsuit and MacCready glanced over at him. He couldn't be...could he? Shoot. He wouldn't have figured Dense to be that open-minded. 

"And manuals," Deacon continued, his voice breathy now. "With illustrations of drills, drilling." Then he lazily unsnapped the top two buttons of his shirt, fingers working so slowly that both their eyes followed them, then stared at the fair skin revealed. Mac's mouth almost dropped open, before he closed it with a click. He wasn't sure what to make of this turn of events. And it was his turn to shift uncomfortably. It suddenly sure felt like a long two weeks. 

He licked his lips and half-turned away, watching Deacon from under the bill of his cap. Deacon let his sunglasses slide down his nose and looked over them at MacCready. His eyes were devoid of anything except mean-spirited glee. Aimed at Danse. Ahh. Now things were clearer. Deacon shoved his glasses back and let one hand trail down his chest seductively. "I'm just thinking about pumps....pumping," he went on, his voice strained.... He sucked in a sharp breath and tensed theatrically. "Right there, oh, yes." Breathed out a long trembling sigh. 

Danse looked him up and down. "Are you all right?" His tone was more uncertain than Mac ever remembered hearing. "Are you ill? There's a medic--" MacCready suppressed a snicker and immediately decided to get in on this. 

"Paladins with sledgehammers, um, hammering, up and down," he added intensely, trying to pretend he was not actually a little turned on by this ridiculous show. Deacon moaned, and stumbled backward until his back hit the empty suit of power armor. Danse moved forward as if to take his arm and suddenly froze. The back of his neck turned red. 

Deacon clenched his hands into fists and made a small thrusting motion forward with his hips. "Oh, god, MacCready. Say it. Please." 

"Motor oil. Dripping down, everywhere, so slick and wet and uh, oily," MacCready went on, a little breathless. "Oil all over your body." 

Danse looked around, and then down at the ground and stuck his hands into the jumpsuit's pockets. MacCready almost expected him to start whistling. 

Deacon said, "Oh, god, that feels good, oh god, yes!" Deacon arched his back against the power armor and ran his hands distractedly through his wig. "Yes, yes, yes!" 

"Baby, open up your power armor," MacCready said with an over-the-top groan and a little sideways nod at Danse. The other man flushed and went back to staring at the ground. 

"God, yes, yes, yes, do it," Deacon moaned. He really sounded ridiculously filthy and uh, maybe a little too accurate if certain of MacCready's remembrances were correct. He tossed his head violently. "Fuck me, yes! Yes, yes, yes, yes!" One final loud, "Oh God, yes!" Then he sagged against the power armor, breathing hard. 

There was a long pause, while Danse stood unmoving, and MacCready was about equally entertained and turned on. Then Deacon straightened up, adjusted his sunglasses and grinned. "So, road trip, huh? Sounds fun." 

"Yeah, Deac, you should have some noodles," MacCready answered smugly. "They're not half-bad." 

Danse made a choked noise, and then cleared his throat loudly. "I'm, I'm—I need to step away for a moment. MacCready--" he pointed a finger at the smaller man and attempted to sound imposing. Immediate fail when his voice cracked. "We---we, uh, we leave in five minutes. Understand? And you, whoever you are, I'll want my fusion core back." He whirled around and walked toward the bathrooms in the back, his pace noticeably quicker than it had been upon entering. That orange jumpsuit hid about as little as a Vault suit. 

MacCready laughed. "I think we broke him." Then Deacon caught his arm. 

MacCready looked over with a smile, only to find the other...staring. "Five minutes?" Deacon asked, and Mac felt his groin tighten. 

An instant later, they'd ducked back into the narrow space between the back wall and the building and were pulling at each other's clothing. Deacon pulled MacCready's shirt and tee out of his pants and smoothed his hands along Mac's back, making him shiver. 

"Listen, MacCready," Deacon muttered, as Mac unfastened his belt and his fly. "That thing, a couple of weeks ago—I should—I should apolo--" 

MacCready slid his hand down the front of his pants and the other sucked in his breath. "Deacon, five minutes," he reminded him. "We have time to screw or time to talk, not do both." He dropped to his knees and took his cock in his mouth, making Deacon choke off a moan and brace his hands against the wall. 

"Oh, fuck, that's good," Deacon said, combing his hands through MacCready's hair and knocking his hat off. If last time (or the time before) was any indication, then Deacon liked it loud and fast and just a little rough, and MacCready suited action to word, briefly regretting the gag reflex that won't let him shove Deacon's cock down his throat—imagined the noises that he might hear if he could. His thighs were tense under MacCready's fingers and he massaged one idly, before reaching up to cup his balls gently and stroke behind. Felt the other man tense but after a minute or so, Deacon pushed him away, breathing hard. "My turn." 

MacCready wiped his mouth. "Oh, is that how we're doing it?" 

"I'm pretty sure we don't have time for you know, one of the Savoldi's beds, so yeah, I guess?" Deacon yanked him to his feet and pushed him back against the thin steel of the bar's back wall. It flexed with a loud thunk and they both froze for an instant. MacCready felt a flash of pain and winced before he could stop himself. 

A crease formed between Deacon's eyebrows and he lifted MacCready's shirts. Mac glanced down and saw faint blue bruises across his ribs. Thanks, Danse. Deacon frowned and placed his hand over them. "That asshole. I'm gonna--" 

MacCready pulled it down and Deacon closer. "Hey, minutes, remember?" 

Deacon bit his lip and then smiled, just a little strained. Reached down to MacCready's belt and unfastened it quickly, and knelt. MacCready closed his eyes and felt his legs weaken, when Deacon took him in. Gentler than usual but faster. Barely getting Mac's cock slicked up before swallowing him down until his nose brushed his groin. Then he eased back slowly, making MacCready clench his hands on his shoulders dizzily. And again, and again, until MacCready was teetering. 

Then Deacon pulled off with a pop and said, "Oh my god, you're wearing one belt, one, no ammo and only two shirts. You were totally intending to fuck Danse, huh?" 

MacCready smiled down at him. "Jealous? Nah, he's not my type." The he pulled him to his feet and leaned against him until he could take them both in hand. "Dummy. I made you following us outside of Concord. It took you long enough to catch up." 

"I totally meant to do that, just moral support for my pal facing down the--the, unngh--" MacCready squeezed and twisted and Deacon thrust forward helplessly. His head hit the steel with a small reverberation. 

MacCready reached around his back, trying to clutch him tighter, pressing into him, while his other hand slid and stroked. He breathed out against Deacon's shoulder. "You're not nearly as sneaky as you think you are." 

"Two minutes," Deacon said, "Time ticking away here and all, just saying." 

MacCready wanted to kiss him to shut him up but when he leaned in, something in Deacon's face went...still and then he hastily turned his face—not all the way, like a rejection but just enough so that MacCready's lips hit the curve of his jaw instead of his mouth. Damn it, MacCready thought, and kissed him anyway, softly on the rough stubbly curve of his jawline. Then he didn't have any more time to think because Deacon wrapped one hand around Mac's hand, around both their dicks and coaxed a faster pace from him. 

"Oh, yes," MacCready whispered, angling his head so he can see behind Deacon's sunglasses, fingers of his free hand digging into Deacon's shoulder (which made his breathing hitch, confirming that Mr. Cool Cat likes a few marks the day after). Wrapped his hand around their dicks and pumped, thrust forward against the other man's cock, silky with pre-come and spit. Behind the glasses, Deacon's eyelids fluttered, almost closed, opened and then closed again, die hard survival skills warring with arousal. His greyish-blue eyes were soft and glazed over with lust. MacCready knew that he was about to come and arched against him, feeling an instant of regret that they hadn't gotten anywhere near a bed. 

Deacon gasped and his cock got harder, jerked, and spurted. "Oh god, MacCready, yes, god, like that." Feeling the slick on his hands, the sweet tang of his come on the air, and his ragged voice saying his name tipped Mac over the edge too, and he thrust his dick hard into the other man's groin while he came. 

“Ohhh,” MacCready breathed out, tension abruptly running out of his muscles and making him seriously regret that he couldn’t pull Deacon into one of the Savoldi’s rooms and sleep for an hour or so before devoting the rest of the night to making him fall apart. God knows, they both could use it. His dick gave a twinge and Deacon grunted. 

“I know you’re like, twenty-two with the refractory period of a rad-rabbit, but some of us are sensitive right now—“ He stopped talking when MacCready pulled a rag out of one pocket and wiped their stomachs. “Now that’s a waste,” he said, in a low tone so unlike his normal voice that MacCready’s stomach clenched oddly and his dick stirred again. Then Deacon grabbed his hand, plucked the rag out of it and slid his fingers into his mouth. Sucked the come off each one, and it was hard to tell with the sunglasses but it sure seemed like he was staring right into MacCready’s eyes while he did it. MacCready's dick twitched valiantly and he didn't think he could, but-- 

“Sh—shoot, Deacon, trying to get me hard again—that's just mean,” he told him in frustration. 

Deacon’s lips quirked up into a…well, what looked like a genuine smile, soft and wistful, but then he pulled MacCready’s last finger out of his mouth and said, “Time's up.” 

He leaned against Deacon and fastened up his pants and belt, felt the other man put his arms around him and rub down his back. "Come with us." 

Deacon sighed. "I can't." 

"Can't or won't?" MacCready asked. Deacon stayed silent and MacCready felt like cursing. He wanted to ask, just what is going on here, but he knew Deacon wouldn't take it well. That didn't stop him from asking, "So why were you following us then?" 

"I wasn't. I needed to check in with Stockton." Deacon's voice was smooth and flat, just like always, but MacCready was certain that he was lying. That he'd followed them on purpose, whatever that might imply. And as if he needed more proof that hanging around Deacon was screwing up his head, he wasn't even mad about the lie, instead it brought a weird rush of....satisfaction? Affection? 

MacCready snorted. "Okay, right." Deacon frowned and MacCready could see this going spectacularly pear-shaped unless he backed off. Oh, for god's sakes. Since when did he whine about relationships anyway? He wanted to smack his own self in irritation. 

And then they both heard Danse’s voice. “MacCready, where are you?” MacCready hesitated—kissing was off the table apparently, Deacon and his dumb paranoia, but he didn't want to just walk away. He didn't want to walk away at all, actually. 

He finally grabbed Deacon’s shoulder and nuzzled briefly into his neck. "Okay, next time, talk and other stuff." 

Deacon's arms tightened, and MacCready nipped at his neck, heard his breathing catch. Then he pulled away reluctantly and stepped around the corner just as Dense was bellowing: 

"MacCready? We need to get back on the road!" 

“I’m here, Danse. Sheesh, no reason to wake up everyone.” Handed him the power core that Deacon had given him. “Ready?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That timeline tag is there due to abusing two pieces of pop culture--Howard the Duck and another which I bet you recognize! Anyway, this fun little bit is done and now back to revising Fool Me Twice. Hope to see you there!


End file.
